I’ve heard there is a room where hooded women enter, writing dates on the wall with the torn edge of their finger. I’ve heard you can cipher the numbers to bodies, to the graceless edge of some men’s beds. Is I’ve heard there is a room where hooded women enter,...
In the backseat of a mustang you looked so much like a movie. The sleeves of your shirt cut off and gas station glasses. Open beer and the wind forgiving nothing. I was almost myself, watching road signs disappear and leaning from the window, dress billowing. Three...